


ozone

by dustofwarfare



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble Exchange, F/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: He knew her for what she was the moment he saw her, as no white gloves or white hair or officer’s academy uniform can truly hide it; rage incarnate, her shadows stretched and spun like silk on a spiked loom.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Jeritza von Hrym
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	ozone

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble exchange for vulnerarie on Twitter, who requested some Edelgard/Jeritza! This is set pre-TS, but vague as to the timeline. Also it's me, so 500 words is a drabble, don't at me. :D

The mask, white and cold and soulless, stares up at him from the table. 

Jeritza’s fingers skirt lightly over the smooth surface. In his mind the bloodlust burns like fire, consuming. 

The thing inside him hums, aches,  _ yearns _ . His mouth tastes like ash. His fingers curl into his palms. He must calm himself. The time will soon come when he can put  _ this _ mask away for good and don the one he truly wishes to wear. He can feel the phantom weight of his black armor even now, hours removed from battle, settling around him like a blanket. 

There’s a knock on his door. 

“What,” Jeritza says. 

“I would like to speak with you.” 

The Imperial princess. Of course. Jeritza stands up and moves to the door, opens it to reveal Edelgard standing there. 

She is a small thing. Big violet eyes and hair as white as snow. He knew her for what she was the moment he saw her, as no white gloves or white hair or officer’s academy uniform can truly hide it; rage incarnate, her shadows stretched and spun like silk on a spiked loom. 

Jeritza bows. He is many things and one of those is a noble, so he pulls the pieces of the Viscount Hrym out of chaos and into order, pressing the pieces together like a mis-matched puzzle. He bows. “Your Highness. You should not be here.” 

“And yet here I am,” she says, impudence and thousands of years of  _ noblesse oblige _ running through her like liquid steel. She puts a hand up on the edge of the door frame. “This conversation would be better if I were not standing outside.” 

Jeritza moves away and she enters like a distant storm; a quiet rumble of a threat getting closer, closer. 

“You have a purpose to fulfill,” she says, once the door is closed behind her. “And that purpose is not to tarry with your prey like a cat with a mouse. You may glut yourself on the battlefield when my plans are set in motion -- until then you will control yourself and do as I say. Do not forget whose knight you are.” 

“ _ I _ do not forget it,” Jeritza says, softly, staring at her. “But he is not yours, Your Highness.  _ He  _ serves only slaughter, worships only blood.” 

Her wide eyes go bright and strange, the way he likes. “Regardless of your fanciful imaginings, he is a  _ weapon  _ and you will keep him sheathed until I tell you otherwise.” She places her small, gloved hand on his chest. Such tiny hands that will remake the world. “It is by my grace and mine alone that your demon has the freedom to hunt. Do not forget that.” 

Jeritza lifts a hand, and it trembles as he dares to touch her hair. It slides between his fingers, soft and cool like rain. “I will not forget.”

She turns her face toward his touch; her breath spills warm like blood on his skin. “Have patience, my dark knight. I will have need of you soon enough.” She presses the softest of kisses to his hand. “And you will not want for blood.” 

He sighs, fingers folding along the side of her face, drawing her close. When he kisses her she tastes like the ozone, like the air before the storm breaks.


End file.
